


Sweet Surrender

by orphan_account



Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Season One, Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e01 Flowers for Your Grave, F/M, debriefing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Castle and Beckett had debriefed at the end of their first case? Story starts at the end of Flowers for your Grave, and goes AU from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Too bad, it would have been great."   
  
Lip firmly clamped between her teeth, Beckett throws a flirtatious smile at him, leans in, and murmurs, "Prove it." She lifts an eyebrow at his surprised expression. "And let's skip dinner."   
She turns and saunters off, a little more sway to her hips than her usual gait allows. Silence follows her, and she turns to find him slack-jawed and stock-still. "You coming, Castle?"   
  
"Yeah. Coming." He grins, and hurries to fall into step beside her.   
  
She's wired; her body's thrumming with an energy she's lost control over, and it's been _a while_ since she last had a man in her bed. No dinner, no alcohol, just him in her bed.   
  
He slides into her cruiser, his eyes on her as she pulls away from the curb, into the traffic. Silence envelopes them, and he struggles to keep it from becoming awkward, uncomfortable. He swallows down all the pointless small talk before it leaves his lips, and repeats dialogue in his head, perfecting it until it can be spoken out loud. But as the scenery becomes familiar out the passenger side window, he turns to her, confused. "Ah, Beckett?"   
  
"Mmmm?" She asks, eyes never leaving the road.   
  
"Where are we going?"   
  
"The precinct."   
  
That's what he suspected. "Why?"   
  
She sighs, eyes still focused straight ahead. "Because I still have a job to do. The day's not over yet."   
  
He slumps a little, disappointed. "I thought-"   
  
"Yeah," she replies, frustrated. "I know." She had almost ignored her duties. She had been tempted, for a split second - too long - to drive them straight back to her apartment. But she's not that wild. Not these days, anyway. She lets her eyes shift from the road ahead, and turns to him just long enough to ask, "So was that the weirdest experience ever?"   
  
He frowns at her question. "You mean you asking me for proof, is that the weirdest?"   
  
"Proof?" Then it clicks, and she blushes slightly at that. "Oh, no, I mean, this case."   
  
"Ah," he replies, and shrugs slightly. "I have dedicated fans, so no."   
  
"You're kidding?" She turns back to him, eyes wide.   
  
"Like I said, occupational hazard." Her eyes are back on the road, but he stays turned to her, eyes studying her profile, her delicate features, porcelain skin. "I had a stalker, for a while, about ten years ago now."   
  
"What happened?" Her eyes shift nervously between the blur of buildings as they drive by, but she refuses to meet his eyes.   
  
"She sent me gifts, every week, for almost two months."   
  
"What kind of gifts?" She asks curious.   
  
"The creepy kind," he says plainly.   
  
"Did you report it?"   
  
"I had a five year old daughter, what do you think?"   
  
"You really do attract the crazies," she tells him, finally meeting his eyes again.   
  
He grins at her. "Now, now, Detective, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself."   
  
Kate rolls her eyes as she pulls into the parking lot. "Funny."   
  
"We really have to do this?" He asks, looking out the window at the building that looms ahead.   
  
"'Fraid so."   
  


* * *

  
He plays with whatever he can get his hands on, starting with a pile of paperclips that he links together; he doodles on paper, fashions those sheets of paper into jet planes, and then sends them careening across the bullpen. Her barely suppressed humor turns to horror when he scrawls something, his hand blocking her from reading it, folds it into a plane, and shoots it to Esposito.   
  
"What did that say?" She asks, turning to try and catch Espo's face as he reads the note.   
  
Castle leans into her, crowding into her space, and smirks. "That I'm hooking up with you tonight, and if he was jealous."   
  
"You did _not_ write that!" She exclaims, louder than anticipated, aghast at his audacity.   
  
He chuckles and leans back, his ears ringing a little from her sharp tone. "You're right, I didn't."   
  
"What did you write then?"   
  
"Nothing pertaining to you."   
  
She narrows her eyes, suspicious, and whips her head around to see what Espo's doing. But Espo merely shrugs, balls up the paper, and tosses it in the trash.   
  
"If you're _that_ bored, Castle, I can give you a stack of paperwork to fill out," Esposito announces.   
  
Satisfied he told her the truth, Kate returns to her own paperwork, the forms she must complete, and tries to focus her attention on it.   
  
But then his hand finds her knee under the desk, his fingers drawing tight circles against the thin material of her pants, threatening to trail higher.   
  
"Castle," she hisses, moving her knee to try and shake him off.   
  
"Then hurry up," he whines.   
  
"Then stop it," she warns.   
  
He stops; she hurries.   
  


* * *

  
She barely has him through the front door when he makes his move. His lips are on hers, rough and bruising, pushing her body back against the closed door. But it's not enough. She grips at his shirt, pulling him closer still, her leg hiking up to wrap around his thigh, bringing his pelvis in direct contact with hers. Warm hands, firm and insistent, slide up her sides, dragging her shirt up, skimming her skin. She quivers beneath his touch, shivering from the mix of cool air and his warm touch, from the anticipation of him naked against her. Her hands frame his face, lips moving in broken, desperate, raw need. Lips move, teeth nip, tongues duel gracelessly.  
  
He pulls back just enough to sweep his hands down her chest, undoing the buttons of her no-nonsense shirt with deft fingers, exposing her as the material is parted. She licks her wet lips, watching him from beneath heavy eyelids. His mouth descends to her bra, and his tongue scrapes across the smooth material. He teases her through her bra, his wet tongue persistent and firm, tracing gratifyingly small circles around her tightening nipples, dampening her bra, and dampening her panties. She threads her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, urging him on, urging him lower.  
  
Dropping to his knees, his tongue slides a hot path down her long, lithe body, his mouth open, his lips soft, worshiping her toned abdomen as his hands snap her pants open and slide them down past her hips. His mouth follows his hands, and she feels frustration rise within her, the pants keeping her from sliding her legs apart, from allowing him better access. But even through the thin, satin material she can feel the hot, wet press of his tongue against her, the light, but deliciously sharp, needles of the stubble peppering his chin. His hands hold her back against the wall, pressed firm into her hips, his warm breath is exhaled against her, his tongue circling and sliding, and it almost ends her.  
  
Her legs waver, her muscles fighting their restraints. Before it almost becomes too much, his tongue trails to her thigh, worshiping the smooth, pale flesh, while his hands free her feet from the fetters, from her pants around her ankles, her shoes. Her bra and panties follow, a puddle of cotton and satin on her living room floor.  
  
He makes quick work of his own jeans, his boxers, his shirt, until he's standing naked before her in the darkened room, and she lets herself stare. She takes him in, the thick, solid muscles of his thighs, his toned abdomen, smooth chest, biceps that shouldn't belong to a writer. He steps into her, and she reaches for him as his body meets hers; she wraps her hand around his hot, hard, thick girth, twitching and strengthening against her palm, and she draws the tip of him to where she needs him most.  
  
Her leg wraps high around his hip; she balances on the ball of her other foot, clinging to him. He slides inside her, and her head drops to his shoulder, teeth scraping against his skin, trying not to bite down, but needing _something_ as he fills her, as her body adjusts to his size, and draws him in.  
  
It hurts, in all the right ways; he slides out slowly, the torturous pace driving her insane, before thrusting as deep as her body allows. A gasp of pleasure leaves her lips, she slides her leg just a little higher, and he fills her completely. Her hips jerk against his, urging him to move.  
  
 _Now. Faster._  
  
He takes the hint, thrusting to the hilt, her muscles rippling around him, her hips meetings his, her legs quivering slightly as she clings to him. Their moans and gasps mix in the air around them, and god he hopes her neighbors aren't home as her body thumps against the door, and his skin slaps against hers.  
  
The tempo builds, the friction increases, until she can't take anymore. She lets out a low sob as her muscles tighten, and she breaks apart in a blinding flash of hot, white light and shooting sparks. It's more intense than she's felt in a long time, and she swears she blacks out for a minute, hopelessly clinging to him as her muscles spasm around him.  
  
And then he's driving into her, short, sharp, fast thrusts as his own release builds, and finally overcomes him.  
  
They stand, slick, hot skin pressed to skin, hearts pounding, breathing stilted and shallow, an air of awkwardness descending around them.  
  
He slants his lips across hers in a quick kiss. "Bathroom?" He asks, his lips grazing her ear, his warm breath fanning out across her skin.  
  
"Behind you," she replies, breathless still.  
  
He scoops his clothes off the floor, and disappears into her bathroom. Beckett slides down the door, until she sits, boneless, on the floor, and scrubs a hand up her face, through her short hair. She stretches out her muscles while water runs in her bathroom, and pushes herself to her feet again when the faucet stops. She's stepping into her panties when he exits the bathroom fully dressed.  
  
"You're leaving?" She asks, sliding her bra straps up her arms.  
  
He looks surprised. "Yeah, I thought-" _You'd want me to leave_ , he finishes silently. He swears he sees a hint of hurt flash through her eyes. "Alexis is expecting me home."  
  
She chuckles darkly, standing before him in her underwear. "So whose conquest was this then?" She asks humorlessly.  
  
He snakes an arm around her waist, and draws her body to his. She resists at first, but relents when he slides his mouth across hers, drawing her lower lip between his.  
  
The kiss ends, and he smiles reassuringly. "Not a one night stand," he murmurs against her skin. "But I do have a teenage daughter to get home to," he apologizes. "I'll be seeing you soon." It's a promise.  
  
And _oh god_ , she thinks, _he better mean it_. Because that, what they just did... Oh, she could get used to _that_.


	2. Chapter 2

 

  
**_Flowers for your Grave_ ** **filler**

* * *

  
"Call him."   
  
"No."   
  
Lanie looks up from the body on the autopsy table between them, and rolls her eyes. "You have his number, right?" At Kate's quick bob of her head she adds, "So call him!"   
  
Folding her arms across her chest, Kate frowns at how simple her friend seems determined to make it. "But I don't even know if I want to?" It wasn't supposed to come out as a question.   
  
"Have you lost your mind?" Lanie asks, dumbfounded. "Do you want hot, wild, door sex with that man again?"   
  
Beckett sucks her lower lip between her teeth as she contemplates it. "No?"   
  
Lanie raises an eyebrow.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Lanie nods.   
  
"Even if I do, and I'm not saying I do, but a full twenty four hours haven't even passed yet," she reminds Lanie. "I'm not _that_ desperate."   
  
Lanie throws her a withering look. "Invite him out, for drinks, dinner, _whatever_." Kate rolls her eyes at the 'whatever', but Lanie chooses to ignore it. "The longer you leave it-"   
  
"I know, okay?" Kate tells her. "Just, give me a day, at least, to figure out what I want. Or to give him a chance to call me."   
  
"I'm back in high school," Lanie laments.   
  
"I'll call him tonight, maybe." Her phone chirps in her pocket, and she hesitates before she pulls it out. There's a look of fear on her face she can't mask, and Lanie just shakes her head, clearly bemused by her behavior. "Beckett," she answers. She listens for a moment, and then replies into phone, "On my way, Sir." She ends the call, and smirks. "Oh, gotta go, Captain wants to see me. _Such_ a shame to end this conversation."   
  
Lanie lets out a disgruntled, frustrated breath at her friend, and at that noise Kate turns on her heel and breezes out of the lab. 

 

* * *

  
She pokes her head into the captain's office. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" At his 'Yeah' she enters.   
  
"I just got a call from the mayor's office, apparently you have a fan," Montgomery tells her as she steps up to his desk.   
  
Beckett frowns slightly at his words. "A fan, sir?"   
  
"Rick Castle."   
  
And _oh_ , she should have known.   
  
"It seems he's found the main character for his next set of novels. A tough but savvy female detective."   
  
"I'm flattered?" She's not. She's going to kill him.   
  
"Don't be, he says he has to do research."   
  
Kate feels the color drain from her face. "Oh no," she interjects.   
  
"Oh yes," Montgomery replies.   
  
"No way."   
  
"Beckett, listen to me-"   
  
"Sir," she interrupts, "he is like a nine year old on a sugar rush, totally incapable of taking anything seriously." Except maybe sex, but even then she's not entirely convinced.   
  
"But he did help solve this case," Montgomery reminds her. "And when the mayor's happy, the commissioner's happy. And when the commissioner's happy, I'm happy," he finishes with a broad smile.   
  
"How long, Sir?"   
  
"Well that's up to him," Montgomery tells her, glancing over her shoulder as he speaks.   
  
Beckett turns, mouth open, and then glares at the man smirking at her from the doorway. Oh, she is going to _kill_ him. 

 

* * *

  
He can tell from the look of utter death in her eyes she's already planning his murder, and he couldn't be less concerned. Fighting crimes at her side, getting all pumped up on adrenaline, and then taking her back to his loft to release that pent-up energy? He's ready for any and all deaths he might incur at her hands, lips, tongue...  
  
She rolls her eyes as she pushes past him, unimpressed.  
  
"Hey, wait up, Beckett."  
  
"I'm busy," she warns, making her way to her desk.  
  
He follows her, and smirks a little to find his chair still parked beside her desk. He sits down on it, and raises his eyebrows at her as she pretends to busy herself with the papers on her desk. "Oh, is this because I didn't call?" He asks, his voice low.  
  
She glares at him, silencing him with her eyes alone. "I'm not sixteen, Castle," she reminds him quietly. "I didn't expect you to."  
  
"Well," he replies. "I was going to, but this seemed like much more fun."  
He watches her for a moment, and then glances around the precinct. Esposito and Ryan are watching curiously, and he throws them a small wave.  
  
"You're back?" Ryan asks across the bullpen.  
  
Castle nods. "Sure am."  
  
"How long?" Esposito asks.  
  
He shrugs. "As long as it takes to research my next novel."  
  
"It's about us?" Ryan asks, eyes wide, intrigued.  
  
"Loosely inspired by," Castle replies.  
  
Beckett lets out a frustrated huff of air, and glares at the boys. "When I kill him, you two will help me hide the body, right?"  
  
They look to Castle in unison, and then back to Beckett. "Of course, boss," Ryan replies solemnly.  
  
Satisfied their loyalty is still with her, she nods. Castle flinches from their words, and smiles as non threateningly as he can. "So, uh, look forward to working with you?"  
  
"Yeah, Bro," Esposito replies calmly, but there's a hint of something else in his eyes and Castle makes a mental note to stay in their good graces.  
  
"So, what happens now?" He asks Beckett.  
  
She shakes her head at him. "It's the end of the day, Castle. I'm going home."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"And then I guess I'll see you back here tomorrow, where I'll watch _you_ fill in paperwork."  
  
He makes a face at that word, and plows on. "Yes, but, in between?"  
  
"I plan to decompress."  
  
He feels a wave of hope surge through him.  
  
"With a glass of wine, and a long soak in my tub - _alone_."  
  
He waves a dismissive hand at her. "Boring. I have a better idea-"  
  
"I'm sure you do," she interrupts.  
  
"Have dinner with me."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I'm tired, and just want to relax."  
  
"Tomorrow then? I make a mean chicken fettuccine." His phone buzzes before he can entice her further, and he glances at the screen. "Oh, okay I gotta go, but this conversation isn't over."  
  
"Everything okay?"  
  
"Oh fine," he replies easily. "My mother is having actor dramas and needs a Benedick for a rehearsal tonight." At Beckett's raised eyebrow he adds, " _Much Ado about Nothing_."  
  
"I see," Beckett replies.  
  
"But tomorrow," he promises as he stands. "Tomorrow we'll discuss this dinner idea further."  
  
"Can't wait," she replies dryly.


	3. Chapter 3

  
**_ Nanny McDead _ ** ** post-ep **   


* * *

  
She had touched his chest, just a light hand pressed to him, as she had made him promise not to enter the laundry room, and to allow her to deal with Chloe alone. But the contact, just that mere brush of her fingertips on his shirt, had brought too much back: images, flashes of her body pressed back against the door, his hot, sweat-slicked skin beneath her touch; the feel of his lips parted, and warm, moving with hers, tongues delving deep, and each sharp thrust of his thick, hard length within her, the _friction_ , the _heat_ ; the noises that had left their lips, the sound of his skin against hers, the contact with the door behind. And oh, god, in that moment outside that laundry room, as fleeting as it had been, she had wanted him. So bad.   
  
But good Detective Beckett had pushed it down, and focused on the case, as good Detective Beckett should. In that moment she had thanked God that Castle couldn't read minds. But he could read her face; he had seen her eyes that night as arousal had flooded them, had seen her nude, stripped bare of her clothes, but also naked, completely exposed before him, gazing down through dark, hooded eyes. He had read those eyes, and for a split second she had let him see it all again. The flashes of lust as she replayed the entire night over in just a fraction of a second. Too fleeting, she hoped, for him to recognize the haze that had surrounded her.   
Perhaps that was why he had disobeyed her, entered the laundry room and startled Chloe, or perhaps it was just Castle. Being Castle. Ignoring her instructions.   
The threat of murder had returned.   
  
His.   
  
By her hands.   
  
But deep down she saw it for what it was: him having her back.   
  


* * *

  
Chloe arrested, she had left him, standing on the pavement, brow furrowed, eyes curious, as she drove away.   
  
_ "What that guy did had consequences only he'll just get to walk away." _   
  
_ "Whatever it is it won't be enough." _   
  
He didn't know the meaning behind her words, not the true ones. Oh, he'd probably imagine poor little Kate Beckett, crying over a broken heart, scorned by the man she had loved. But he'd never know, because she would never tell him, the loss she had suffered, the unsolved case, the albatross hanging heavy around her neck, disguised as a wedding ring; he would never know the true weight of her words.   
  


* * *

  
He phones her after Alexis has wandered up to bed; he phones her because he can't stop thinking about her.  
  
"Beckett," she answers on the second ring.  
  
"Hey, it's Castle. So I was thinking," he continues quickly, not giving her a chance to interrupt, "about that dinner we were supposed to have."  
  
"Little late for dinner," she replies smoothly.  
  
"A drink then?"  
  
She chuckles through the line, her voice melodious and warm. "Some of us have work tomorrow."  
  
"It's barely nine," he whines. "I'll bring the wine?"  
  
"No, because it's not going to just be a glass of wine," she tells him, mirth in her tone. "It's going to be a glass of wine, and then a repeat of the other night."  
  
"The _other_ night?" He sighs then. "That was almost a week ago and-"  
  
"And?"  
  
"I want to kiss you again."  
  
She's silent for a moment. "You have been very restrained," she admits.  
  
He suppresses the groan, the frustration building up from not being able to touch her since that night. "You have no idea," he mutters.  
  
"Trust me," she replies. "I do." She chuckles softly, before adding, "We did things against my apartment door I'm not going to forget anytime soon."  
  
"So don't forget; repeat."  
  
"And then we become what?" She asks, her tone a little darker. "Colleagues who have sex against doors after a tough case?"  
  
"Or more, if you want it."  
  
More silence. One beat; two. It threatens to stretch out and force him to speak.  
  
"I don't know what I want," she finally replies. "Castle, listen, I'm not..." She sighs again. "I'm not in the right place for a relationship, okay?"  
  
"Then whatever you need, for however long, just tell me, I can do it." He doesn't mean to sound desperate. He's captivated, intrigued; he's falling for her.  
  
"I need you to get the material you need for your book, and then leave me alone."  
  
He refuses to let his heart crumble from those words, because he refuses to believe them. "You don't mean that."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" She dares him on, pushes him, and he _likes_ it.  
  
"Because on more than one occasion today you were picturing me naked."  
  
She huffs out an annoyed breath, but he hears it for what it actually is: mortification, because it's true. _Busted, Beckett._  
  
"Not true," she lies.  
  
Oh, but he can hear in her voice that it is. "Wow, that was a half-hearted retort if ever I heard one."  
  
"Okay, fine," she replies. "Maybe I'm not as against the idea of a repeat as I may come across but-"  
  
"I don't like buts."  
  
" _But,_ maybe it was just meant to be one night, us just getting it out of our system. Now we move on."  
  
"So tell me, is it out?" Her silence answers the question for him. "Yeah, it's not out of mine either."  
  
"Listen, how about we just try and..." She fumbles for the words. "Build a friendship? And try not to kill one another in the process?"  
  
"Friends who have seen each other naked?"  
  
"Mmmhmm," she replies, her tone is low, but the mirth is back. "And if you're a really good boy, who doesn't piss me off too much, you might just get a repeat," she finishes seductively.  
  
The line goes dead, and he grins as he places his now silent phone back on the desk.  
  
Oh yes, he can be _very_ good.


	4. Chapter 4

  
**_ Hell Hath No Fury  _ ** ** Filler/Post-ep **   


* * *

  
Kate sits quietly in the morgue, perched on the edge of an autopsy table, swinging her legs.   
  
"Hey," she announces herself as Lanie enters.   
  
"Damn, girl, you scared me," Lanie chastises her lightly, stripping off her lab coat.   
  
"Lanie, you're surrounded by corpses," Beckett reminds her.   
  
"Yeah, I don't expect the living after seven o'clock."   
  
"Funny," Kate mutters dryly. "Neither do I."   
  
"I'm an ME, what's your excuse?"   
  
"Oh don't be mean."   
  
"You deserve it. Getting a drink with me after work instead of getting your freak on with Writer Boy?"   
  
Kate rolls her eyes. "We're working on it."   
  
"What does that even mean?"   
  
"It means..." Kate frowns, annoyance seeping in from having to explain it. "Well, exactly what it sounds like. We're not rushing it, Lanie."   
  
"What is _it_ , exactly?" Lanie asks. "Are you dating?"   
  
"No," she replies, shaking her head.   
  
Lanie raises an eyebrow, stepping closer to her friend. "Tell me it wasn't a one night stand."   
  
Kate scrunches her nose up, but her expression shifts as she considers it, and she frowns in thought. "It wasn't?"   
  
"Kate Beckett!"   
  
"Look, Lanie," she begins, now _needing_ to explain it, "that night, when he walked out my apartment door, part of me honestly didn't expect to ever see him again. Castle has a... Well, he has certain reputation, okay?"   
  
"Okay," Lanie agrees, "but now he's following you around like a puppy. He's not going away, Kate. So why not ditch me, and jump him. I'll understand, hell, I encourage it."   
  
"Because..." She fumbles for an excuse. "Because he is annoying, self-centered, egotistical, and completely-"   
  
"Fun!" Lanie exclaims. "And take it from me, girlfriend, you need some fun. How bad can he be?"   
  
Beckett answers her phone to a gleeful Castle announcing his date with a prostitute, and like hell is she going to divulge _that_ conversation - no matter how drunk she gets tonight.   
  


* * *

  
She had left him, with his family at the book reading, sauntering off in her short dress, high heels, and long legs. Leaving him wanting more.   
_ She _ wants more. _Needs_ more. Lanie was right, dammit.   
Slipping her shoes off, Kate pads into her kitchen and pours herself a glass of Merlot. She will wait, until much later when she has a couple of glasses of wine in her, and a few less inhibitions. She will wait, and then she will phone him. Maybe catch him on his way home, her apartment can't be too out of his way. Or if he's already home, she might catch a cab, find her way to his apartment, to his bed. She just needs him tonight, whatever _that_ means. Whatever it all becomes. One night, two. A relationship, or something more casual. Tonight, it's just sex.   
  
The wine has barely touched her lips when a knock sounds at her door. Kate peers through the hole - and smirks.   
  
She swings the door open, one eyebrow raised. "Yes?"   
  
Castle shifts his weight, suddenly nervous. "You busy?"   
  
"I might be," she replies.   
  
"May I come in?"   
  
"Why?" She challenges.   
  
He holds his hands up in surrender. "To talk, okay?"   
  
She considers it for a moment, and then opens her door, stepping back so he can enter. _Yes, let's talk, about how your eyes undressed me in that bookstore, and how easily I could have lead you into a dark, quiet corner, pressed my back against the shelves, pulled your body to mine, guided your hand beneath my dress..._   
  
"I'm not changing her name," he tells her as he steps into her apartment, glancing around, taking it all in as he sees it bathed in light for the first time.   
  
Kate blinks, clearing the lust from her eyes. Wasn't quite the conversation she'd been expecting, but okay, she'll go with it. "Why not?" She closes the door, and turns to him, arms folded across her chest.   
  
He's learning more about her as his gaze sweeps around the interior of her living room, but he turns to meet her eyes as he replies, "It suits her."   
  
"Her?" She asks bravely. "Or me?"   
  
"I'm sorry?" He blinks rapidly a couple of times, confused.   
  
Despite all the dirty, desperate, devilish things she's conjuring up in her mind she'd hate for him to get the wrong idea of her. "Why is this _character_ that you're basing off me," she begins, refusing to say the name she has just recently learned, "in your words, 'kinda slutty'?" He opens his mouth, but she's too fast, her brain too impatient for the right information. "Is it because we slept together?"   
  
He throws her a grin. "Oh, you're worried that because you practically dragged me into your apartment and ravished me against this door I now think you're promiscuous?"   
  
She exhales an irritated breath. "Castle, that's not how it happened." She groans. Promiscuous? God, she's sixteen and being lectured by her father all over again. "But, is it?"   
  
"No," He replies simply, and he shrugs like she's silly to be worrying over this. "She's got a sexy side, okay? That's all. I was teasing about the slutty thing. She just likes to have _fun_."   
  
One of those words needs to disappear. "So can we drop the S word then, and just call her fun?" Because _she's_ fun, dammit.   
  
He watches her intently for a moment, like he's trying to figure her out. "Yes," he finally agrees. "But I'm still not changing her name," he announces proudly, and she glares at him for that. "She's _hot_ , okay," he tells her firmly. "And a little bit wild, despite what most people see. She has a lot of layers to peel away, book by book."   
  
"How many books are you planning?" She isn't even sure she wants to know.   
  
He smirks. "As many as are needed to tell her story."   
  
She softens her features, and nods. "Fine."   
  
His eyes widen in surprise. "Fine?"   
  
She shrugs. "As long as you treat her with respect, and the S word is never spoken of again, then yes. Fine. I can learn to accept the name."   
  
He smiles, nodding happily. "Great!" He steps into her personal space then, his eyes drifting up and down her body, the curves usually hidden beneath conservative shirts and thick winter coats, now accentuated by the dress. "Now, for the other reason I stopped by." His arm snakes around her waist, pulling her body to his.   
  
"Oh?" She asks, breathless from the hard press of his body against hers, the already impressive bulge in his pants growing as she rotates her hips, her pelvis sliding with his. "And that was?"   
  
His lips meet hers, and her mouth opens instantly at the contact. She'd had just a sip of him previously, and her thirst for his taste, his scent, his touch, has haunted her since.   
  
His fingertips slide up her legs, up her inner thigh, and he gasps in pleasant surprise. "Christ, Beckett," he mutters against her mouth.   
  
A soft sigh leaves her own lips at the feel of his fingertips sliding between her legs. She might have forgotten to mention she'd attended his reading wearing _nothing_ beneath the dress. Because had she the courage to do all the things at the event that she had imagined, underwear would have been a hindrance. She raises herself up on the balls of her feet as he draws tight circles between her legs, pleasure buzzing louder within her from every revolution.   
  
"Bedroom," he breathes against her cheek, his own patience fading.   
  
She shakes her head, and draws him back to the couch, his hands fumbling to slide her dress up while they move. He wants to see _her,_ but there's something she wants to do first. Pushing him down onto the couch with a gentle shove of her hand against his chest, she is quick to undo his jeans. She slides her hand into his boxers, and eases him out. She slips between his parted thighs, drops to her knees, and her mouth descends. Her lips slide down his shaft, engulfing him in her hot, wet, mouth. Her tongue teases a lazy trail, serpentine and slick, as she slides back up, pausing to swirl the tip of him before descending again.   
  
His fingers slide through her short hair, not guiding her, just caressing. His head falls back, his eyes close, and she knows he won't last long if she keeps this up.   
"Kate," he groans.   
  
Her lips leave him, and she looks up, a little surprised by the use of her first name. "You okay?" The little shiver that runs through him when the cool air replaces her warm mouth doesn't go unnoticed by her, and it inspires her - _for next time_.   
  
"Oh god, yes." He reaches for her, and she allows him to tug her to him. She hikes her dress up as she straddles his lap; his hands replace hers, holding the dress up around her waist, and her own hands move to grip at the back of the couch, on either side of him, for balance.   
  
She positions herself above him, and then eases down, taking him deep inside. A soft sigh escapes her lips as he fills her; she brings her hands to his shirt, bunching the material in her fists, holding on while she rolls her hips, sliding up, down, feeling the heat building with each rotation, with each thrust.   
  
He draws her lips to his, her dress-clad body leaning over his. She bucks her hips, clenching her muscles tight around him. Her lips suck on his lower lip, and she feels the moan he expels.   
  
She keeps the rhythm going, drawing them both closer to release, her hips rolling, muscles clenching, his own messy thrusts meeting hers, their lips connecting and sliding.   
  
His fingers curl at her hips, partly clutching at her dress, partly holding onto her, guiding her movements to the speed and angles he needs.   
  
He doesn't know yet that he won't be staying the night. There are photos in her bedroom she isn't ready to explain; family vacations at the ocean, photos of a little girl and her ice cream on the esplanade, seated beside a mother she's yet to speak of. These photos tell so many stories, none she is ready to reveal to him. But with each slide of him deep inside her, the feelings stir in her belly, creep into her chest, her heart, and she thinks she might be ready soon. Nikki Heat has layers to peel back, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

  
**_ Hedge Fund Homeboys  _ ** ** filler _/_ post-ep **   


* * *

  
Castle's hand brushes hers as he grasps the armrest to pull their chairs together, and she is quick to pull back, away from his touch, away from the sparks shooting though her, away from her sudden need to lean into him and claim his lips with hers.   
  
Kate leans back in her chair while he crowds into her space, her eyes screaming at him to just _back off_. They need to discuss this; he needs to keep some distance between them while at work. But he ignores her body language, refuses to read her eyes, and remains oblivious while she retreats as far back as she can.   
  
"Why didn't Donny's friend's just give him the money?" Castle asks, breathless in his excitement.   
  
Her eyes dip to his lips, and then drop to his hands, his fingers still wrapped around her chair's armrest. She forces her gaze back up to meet his own eyes. "What are you talking about?"   
  
"These kids always have cash," Castle reminds her. "You can't tell me one of them couldn't spring a few bucks to save his life?" His excitement rises as he speaks.   
  
"Castle," Esposito interrupts, "some demented drug dealer's waving a gun. I'm thi- They probably froze up."   
  
Ryan nods along with his partner, smiling, both in agreement and at Castle trying to play cop.   
  
"But all of them? He wasn't asking SAT questions," Castle points out. "He was asking for money." He turns back to Beckett as he adds, "Something these kids probably count in their sleep."   
  
Beckett remains where she had recoiled to, but the look of hope on his face, that she of all people will understand, and his barely contained excitement in his theory, are all wearing her down. _Damn, he has a point_. And by the time he speaks the words, "One of them did it," _he's_ done it. He has convinced her.   
  
Beckett grabs the file papers in haste, and strides out of the bullpen, Castle quick to catch up and fall into step beside her.   
  
"Where are we going?" He asks excitedly.   
  
"To test your theory," she tells him, and out of the corner of her eye she swears she sees him bounce on the balls of his feet as they walk.   
  
"Excellent," he replies, the distance between them shrinking with each step.   
  
His arm brushes hers, just the lightest of touches, but then it's back. Everything she's been suppressing all damn day. It returns, this need to grab him, drag him into a stairwell, slam him against the cold concrete wall, and kiss him until her lips are bruised and he's pleading his safe word over and over into her relentless mouth.   
  
They turn a corner, and, away from prying eyes, Beckett stops walking and murmurs, "Hey." She leans back against the wall and watches him pause, and turn to face her.   
  
"What is it?" He asks, some of the excitement in his eyes now replaced with concern.   
  
She purses her lips, and holds his gaze. "Just keep your distance while we're at work, okay?" She keeps her voice low, just loud enough for him to hear.   
  
He hears her, but he doesn't understand. "I'm sorry?" He takes a step closer to her, the exact opposite of what she just asked of him.   
  
"The chairs..." At his blank expression she mutters, "I have personal space, okay? Respect it."   
  
" _Oh_." He glances around surreptitiously. "You don't want people knowing we're, _you know_ , when we're off-duty."   
  
"No," she says firmly. "I don't. I like to keep things professional, so please respect that."   
  
He wants to make a smart-ass comment about that, she can see him wrestling with it, struggling to hold it back. He watches her, and she forces herself to hold his gaze, refusing to back down. "Yeah, okay," he concedes finally. "No problem."   
  
She narrows her eyes, suspicious, but she can't deny he appears genuine, and her expression softens. "Okay, good."   
  


* * *

  
Case closed, lives in tatters, Castle waits while Beckett finishes up. He sits beside her desk, watching as she works her way through the forms surrounding her. Somewhere under all this she's sure there is a desk. His attention diverts only when he's in need of something to play with, but she's moved all the paperclips out of his reach, tired of having to unlink them before she can use them.   
  
"Are you hanging around for a particular reason," Beckett asks dryly, pen still scrawling words on the paperwork littering her desk.   
  
"You know, the kid's syllogism was pretty good."   
  
"Not good enough, though," Beckett replies, still not looking up.   
  
"Yeah," Castle agrees, nodding. "Yours was better."   
  
Kate suppresses the smirk; her pen stills, and she meets his eyes. "Yours wasn't too bad either."   
  
"I know," he replies smugly.   
  
She rolls her eyes at him, refusing to stroke his ego further with just how much she appreciated his help with the case. "So why _are_ you still hanging around?"   
  
"I'm not going to be here the next few days," he reminds her. "Just wanted to make the most of today."   
  
At the thought of him wanting to spend just a little more time with her before leaving with Alexis, she feels it again, that flutter in her chest, swirling around her heart, trying desperately to get inside.   
  
He leans in, too close, and lets his eyes drift up her body, lingering on her breasts. "And I'm totally hoping to cop a feel under that shirt before I go too."   
  
And just like that the flutter dissipates. She lets out a disgusted breath of air, and fixes him with a death glare. "Not happening."   
  
"Shame," Castle laments, leaning back in his own chair again. "It's going to be a long couple of days."   
  
"You'll survive," Kate tells him dryly. "Have fun in DC, Castle." He plasters a despondent look on his face as he rises to his feet, and she _almost_ feels bad for him. "Stop by when you get back," she says softly as he's turning to leave.   
  
He stops, and she can see him trying to figure her out once more. "The precinct?" He asks, his head tilted slightly as he awaits her answer.   
  
Kate sucks her lower lip between her teeth and smiles dangerously. "My apartment."


	6. Chapter 6

He knocks lightly on her apartment door, a little hesitant. He didn't call, probably should have. _Idiot._ Maybe she's still at work, hunched over her desk, hand cramping from filling out that endless paperwork, or maybe she's standing before the murder board, dry-erase marker in her hand, eyes tired, brow furrowed. He hates thinking of her evenings spent like that, alone, in the quiet precinct, eating dinner out of a Styrofoam container, lost in a case.   
  
Or... Maybe she's home, ignoring his knocks, because she has company.   
  
They're exclusive, aren't they? He doesn't know. They haven't discussed this.   
Whatever _this_ is.   
  
He considers leaving, he's on the verge of turning, walking away, when she opens the door, smiling brightly at him.   
  
"Hey, Castle."   
  
"Hey," he replies, still unsure. "Am I disturbing you?"   
  
"Not at all." She opens the door wider, steps back, and beckons him inside with a slight tilt of her head. "How was DC?"   
  
He steps into her apartment, groaning softly at the memories of the weekend. "Tiring," he tells her, his voice strained. "Are you aware of how loud fifteen year old girls really are?"   
  
Kate smirks. "I am."   
  
He looks around for a place to hang his jacket, and she points to a hook behind the door. His clothes tend to end up on the floor here, or draped haphazardly over the back of a chair, he hasn't needed to hang any items up before.   
  
"Would you like a dri-"   
  
His lips on hers swallow down the rest of her words; his arms wrap around her, and he pulls her as close to him as he can get her. Her body relaxes into his embrace, her lips moving with his, her hands sliding under his shirt, her fingers splayed against his back.   
He missed her, and he wants to breathe those words into her mouth, but he senses it's too soon for such words, so he keeps them inside. But, God, did he miss her. He's had muses before, women he shadowed, and admittedly slept with, but none of them had found their way inside his heart. But she's in there - already. Attraction, curiosity, intrigue, lust, it's all turning into more. It's turning into something stronger.   
  
Her hands slide around, tug his shirt out of his pants, and her deft fingers work on the buttons. She has his shirt off, is working on his pants, without her lips ever leaving his. He keeps up, matching her momentum, working on her own clothing.   
His fingertips skim up her skin, cup her breasts; the tip of his thumb grazes her nipple, and she sighs into his mouth.   
They step out of their pants in a graceless shuffle of a dance, her fingernails teasing his thighs as she frantically tugs them down. They kick the items aside to join the crumpled shirts, her sheer black bra, the familiar pile of frantically discarded clothing.   
His fingers trail to her hips, slide over the barely-there material of her panties. _Her matching panties._ So damn sheer he can't think anymore.   
  
And then she's tugging him down to the floor, to the soft woolen rug; she pushes him down on his back, and straddles his hips in one smooth movement. She leans over him, her nipples brushing his chest, her hips rolling, pressing down, sliding against him. She captures his lips, slanting her hot, open mouth against his. She breaks the contact only to murmur, "Good to have you back, Castle," against his cheek. Her hips rock, sweeping the coarser material of her panties against the softness of his skin.   
Her fingers move to hook around the waistband of her underwear, but he's quick to cover her hands with his. "Leave them on," he pleads, struggling to speak, to articulate anything when she's so beautiful, all alabaster skin, dark hair, and red lips, straddling him on her apartment floor.   
  
He runs his fingers along the _oh so damp_ crotch of her panties, feeling her shudder as touches her through the material. He slides it out of the way, holding it against the inside of her thigh, as she raises herself up just a little higher, takes him in her soft, warm hand, and guides him in. She sinks down, her head falling back, back arching, as he fills her completely.   
  
But, oh no, Beckett. Not this time. He needs a little of the control back. He flips them, as gracefully and carefully as he can, her body moving with his. He settles between her splayed legs, and buries himself in her again. He could stay like this, wrapped up in her, surrounded by her. The soft gasps that leave her lips as he thrusts, the sighs as hits just the right place, her back arching off the floor, fingernails scraping his skin, hips meeting his, the slide of the lace trim of her underwear against him with each shift of his hips. He could stay like this forever.   
  
He loses himself in her; she makes it so easy.   
  


* * *

  
"You do own a bed, right?" He's sliding his boxers up his legs when he wonders if she even has a bedroom, and the question leaves his lips before he can stop it.  
  
Kate frowns, slipping into a robe she had retrieved from the bathroom. "Of course."  
  
"Okay, just asking because I'm yet to see it." That thought wasn't really meant to leave his lips either.  
  
She meets his eyes, a hint of fear shining in hers. "Is that important to you?"  
  
He shrugs. "We don't do sleepovers," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "I get that, and that's fine. But-"  
  
She steps up to him, laces her fingers through the ones he'd just been waving in the air, and pulls him gently towards her bedroom. She opens the door, the light from the hall shining in, illuminating just enough, and points. "There. Okay? I own a bed."  
  
He nods, smiling at the neatly made-up bed, the purple comforter, the excess of pillows. _Cute_. "Okay."  
  
"Doesn't mean you're getting in it tonight," she tells him, mirth in her voice.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, I promised Alexis I'd be home by ten."  
  
"I like that you have a curfew and your daughter doesn't."  
  
"She doesn't need one." He smiles brightly, proud of his seemingly perfect daughter. His eyes start to flick around the room, trying to focus on whatever else is in there - trying to discover all her secrets.  
  
"My dad would be so jealous of you right now," she tells him, closing the door and leading him back to the couch.  
  
"Oh?" His eyes light up, intrigued. "Bit of a wild child were you?"  
  
"I had my moments," she tells him. "And that's all you need to know."  
  
"For now."  
  
She elbows him gently in the ribs as he bends to retrieve his clothing off the floor. At his low yelp of pain, she rolls her eyes.  
  
"Baby."  
  
His spine straightens, and he turns to her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. "Did you just call me baby?"  
  
She chuckles. "No," she corrects, "I called you _a baby_."  
  
"Mmhmm," he replies, unconvinced. "Not what I heard."  
  
"You heard wrong, Castle." She picks his shirt off the floor, and tosses it to him. "It's nine thirty," she reminds him.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," he replies. His shirt dangling in his hand, he wraps his other arm around her and pulls her body to his. "But next time," he says softly, breathing her in as he dips his mouth to her neck, marveling at how soft her skin is, how good she smells, especially with a hint of him lingering on her.  
  
"Next time you can spend the night," she promises.  
  
Because she knows, although he refuses to admit it, that it _is_ important to him.


	7. Chapter 7

 

  
**_A Chill Goes Through Her Veins_ ** **post-ep.**

* * *

  
Castle had committed Johanna Beckett's file to memory from the small amount of time Esposito has allowed him to have with it. He sat in his office now, typing it all out on his laptop, creating his own personal file. His phone vibrates on his desk, breaking his focus away from the blurring screen before him, and his heart pounds in his chest when his eyes fall upon the name on the display.  
  
 _She knows._   
  
"Beckett?" He asks into the phone, hoping that slight rise in his voice goes unnoticed.   
  
"Yeah, hey, Castle."   
  
She sounds...weird. Not angry, just off. Sad, he realizes then. "You okay?"   
  
She's silent for a moment. "Do you mind if I come over?"   
  
He closes his laptop and slides it to the side. "Not at all," he replies, no longer worried he's been busted, just concerned about her, curious about the rueful tone in her voice that he's sure she's trying to hide from him.   
  
"Good, because I'm already outside your building."   


 

* * *

  
He opens the door to her damp face, tears still rolling down her cheeks. He ushers her quietly into his study, closing the doors behind them. He sits her down in an upholstered chair, and pulls his own from behind his desk to sit in front of her, and the whole time she avoids his gaze.   
  
"I spoke to my dad," she tells him, her voice breaking, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. She picks at a fingernail, and looks up, shrugging as she finally meets his eyes. "It's never easy."   
Folding her arms across her chest, it silently warns him of her need for distance. It radiates off her, and it's the only thing keeping him from reaching for her.   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks.   
  
"Not really," she replies, shaking her head. She unfolds her arms and wipes fresh tears away with the back of her hand, but more fall in their place, and she sighs in frustration. "I just want to stop crying."   
  
His heart breaks for her, and he does the only thing that makes sense to him, despite her body language. Reaching for her hand, he stands and pulls her to her feet, and then pulls her into his arms. He wraps her tense body in a warm embrace, his fingertips skimming up and down her spine, soothing her pain through her thick hoodie.   
  
She's frozen in place, spine rigid, arms stiff at her sides, but with each sweep of his hands up and down her back she relaxes a little more. She finally sinks into him, her arms snaking around his waist. Her head turns, her cheek to his shoulder, and her nose bumps his neck. "Thank you," she breathes against his skin.   
  
Resting his chin on the top of her head, he holds her just a little tighter. "It's what partners do."   
  
Kate's body shakes against his; she snorts softly as she pulls back, but her eyes now shine with mirth. "We are _not_ partners."   
  
"Yes, we are," he corrects, his tone suggesting she's silly to think otherwise.   
  
She shakes her head at him, her eyes a little darker again. "Partners get separated for-, well for doing the things we've been doing."   
  
"Better keep it quiet then, huh?" He teases.   
  
She steps completely out of his embrace, and wipes away the last of her tears. She steps to the side, sits on the edge of his desk, and he settles at her side, mirroring their position from the day before. This time he turns and drops a kiss to her forehead, and she leans into him while his lips linger on her warm skin.   
  
"Yes," she agrees, her voice low.   
  
He watches her quietly for a moment, takes in the circles bruising her pale skin, deep and dark beneath her red eyes; he feels a sad tug at his heart from her tight, down-turned lips, and from the lines that have formed in her usually smooth forehead. He gives her shoulder a soft bump with his, and smiles warmly at her. "Come on," he says gently. "It's late."   
  
She watches him with wary eyes as he pushes off the desk. He doesn't say anything further, just laces his fingers through hers, and tugs her with him as he crosses the room. He opens the door at the opposite end of his study, and leads her into his bedroom. She pauses before crossing the threshold, tugging back on his hand so he's forced to turn and face her.   
  
There are silent questions in her eyes, so many concerns. He gives her a reassuring smile. "To sleep, Kate," he tells her gently. "Nothing more."   
  
Her eyes are still locked on his while she considers it. He sees the change, her softening gaze, as she relents, and he gestures for her to enter.   
  
"Nice," she murmurs, taking the decor in. She graces him with a smile. "Not what I pictured."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Yeah, considering how you opened the door to me yesterday I expected..." She frowns, unsure how to say it.   
  
"The Xbox is in the other room," he admits. "Along with the radio-controlled helicopter."   
  
Kate chuckles. "I did wonder."   
  
"So you'll stay?"   
  
"Too tired to argue."   
  
He tosses her a t-shirt from his drawer, but she just scrunches up her nose and tosses it straight back.  
  
"Don't need it," she tells him.   
  
He disappears into the en-suite as she slips quickly out of her hoodie and jeans, and by the time he has returned she is already under the sheets, sitting up, twisted at her waist, as she arranges the pillows behind her.   
  
"That works too," he murmurs, his eyes moving up her naked back. She never stops surprising him.   
  
She turns back to him, catches him ogling her bare skin, and throws him a withering glare. "I just want to sleep," she tells him, settling herself on the side of the bed she's claimed as her own.   
  
He swallows thickly, his eyes lingering on her bare breasts before she covers them with the sheet. "God, you're beautiful." His words come out on a rushed exhale of breath, and her cheeks turn a pinker hue as she flops down on her back, keeping the sheet in place. He clears his throat, and pushes all inappropriate thoughts deep down. "Sleep," he agrees. "Yeah."   
  
He changes quickly in front of her, pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, and slides under the sheets next to her. She remains on her back, sheets pulled up to her chest, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"Sorry about the emotion earlier." Her voice is barely audible, and she still won't meet his eyes.   
  
He arranges the sheets around himself, the pillows under his head, and stares up at the ceiling with her. "No need. It's what partners are for, remember." He hears her let out an 'ugh' under her breath, but when he sneaks a glance at her there's a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.   
  
He watches the smirk fade, sees her fingers clench around the sheet at her chest. He reaches to his left, hits the light switch, darkness swallowing them up, shifts his gaze back up to the ceiling he can no longer see, and waits silently.   
  
"It's because of my mom, Castle, because of her death, I mean," she says quietly.   
  
"What is?"   
  
"The reason I'm really not looking for a relationship right now."   
  
"Too late."   
  
"I'm sorry?"   
  
"You're already in one."   
  
Kate releases the sheet, throws her arms across her eyes, almost taking out one of his with her elbow, and groans. "The sheer amount of baggage I come with, Castle, you _really_ don't want to-"   
  
"Oh, you want to talk about baggage?" He asks. When she huffs out a _No_ , he ignores it and says, "Two failed marriages, a teenage daughter, a mother who lives at home, oh and have I mentioned a father I know _nothing_ about?"   
  
"It's going to get messy," she warns, arms still hiding her eyes.   
  
"I can handle messy." He rolls onto his side, his eyes finding her in the darkness, and he smirks at her. "So, how does wife number three sound to you?"   
  
Kate freezes for a moment; she lowers her arms from her face and stares at him, and even in the dark he can see the panic filling her wide eyes. Her eyes adjust, she sees his broad grin, and she scrunches her nose up at him, relaxing again. She whips the pillow out from behind her head, sits up, and whacks him with it. "I want a divorce."


	8. Chapter 8

**_ Always Buy Retail _ **

* * *

  
Arms snake around, fingers curl, nails leave imprints in skin, and it's all that anchors them to one another as their slick skin slides; they move frantically, caught up in a desperate, destructive dance.   
  
They alternate positions; on her stomach, hips raised off the mattress, she grips at the sheets while he pounds into her from behind, and when she's had enough of that she shifts them. Him on his back, her reverse cowgirl, she rolls her hips, grinds down, until she _almost_ comes. And then they reposition themselves again.   
  
He's brought her to the edge so many times that when she does finally let go she might never come back into her body.   
  
Kneeling before him, her hands now framing his face, her tongue firmly in his mouth, she falls back, tugging him with her, and the heated air whirls around them; she slides her legs out from under her, and he's between them before she has a chance to settle. She wraps them tight around his waist, her body now pinned to the mattress by his. His legs are fettered by the sheets bunched at the bottom of the bed, and in her need to claw for something to cling to items are knocked off the nightstand, champagne flutes are broken.   
  
They roll off the bed in a tangle of limbs and sheets, falling to the floor in a graceless heap, the comforter softens his landing, his body cushions hers. The final thump as they land is followed by the sound of more breaking glass, and he isn't sure he even wants to know what that was.   
  
But, God, it was worth it.   
  
They claw their way back to the side of the mattress, grasping at the edge of it, her legs tremble as her muscles recover, and her fingers clenched tight around the sheet is all that's holding her up.   
  
"That was..." Wonderment fills his voice, his eyes shining as he takes in the state of his bedroom. The room is in shambles, and he's pretty sure they broke the bed, but he's in awe of what just happened, the things she did with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, her thighs, those strong, pulsing, controlled muscles that gripped at him...   
  
"Oh, yeah," she agrees, breathless, unable to form coherent sentences.   
  
A soft knock sounds at the door, and his narrowed eyes meet her wide ones.   
  
"Richard?" Martha's voice calls through the door.   
  
"Uh," Castle fumbles. "Not the best time." His voice squeaks on the last word, and he groans in embarrassment.   
  
Kate rips the sheet from off the floor and wraps it quickly around her naked body, before ducking down to hide behind the bed. He glances down at her. "Are you hiding?" He asks, hints of amusement seeping through his mortification.   
  
"No," she lies, her own voice higher than usual.   
  
"Just thought you'd like to know your ex-wife is here," Martha announces from the other side of the door.   
  
He raises an eyebrow at Kate, and then shrugs. "Tell Gina I'll catch up with her later."   
  
"Not _that_ ex-wife." And damn if his mother doesn't sound way too smug.   
  
Castle groans, and sinks down to the floor next to Kate.   
  
"There are only two, right?" Kate whispers.   
  
He nods. Turning back to the door, he calls, "I'll be out soon." To Kate he mutters, "This is not good."   
  
"Why?" She asks, dragging the word out slowly, a hint of fear in her tone.   
  
Castle merely sighs in response, and pushes himself to his feet. He helps her up, pulls her body to his, and presses an apologetic kiss to her lips. "I'll make this visit as brief as possible," he promises. He breaks away from her, pulls on the nearest clothes he can find, opens the door just enough, and steps quickly out of the bedroom.   
  
With the sheet wrapped securely around her body, Kate tip-toes to the door, and listens.   
  


* * *

  
"I'm moving back," Meredith declares happily.   
  
Castle feels the color drain from his face, feels the impending doom as he asks, "Back to _New York_?"   
  
Meredith smiles broadly, too caught up in her joy to notice his pained expression. "I miss it," she tells him. "I miss it, I miss Alexis. I miss you."   
  
"Me?" At Meredith's nod, he shakes his head. "Ah, I'm seeing someone, Meredith."   
  
"I heard," the redhead smirks as she replies.   
  
"We all did," Martha replies dryly from the kitchen. "Who is this mystery woman anyway?"   
  
Castle shoots his mother a glare. "None of your business." At the intrigued look Meredith is throwing him he adds, "Nor yours." He rakes a hand up his face, through his mussed hair. "It's seven AM, what are you doing here so early?"   
  
"Oh, when I woke up this morning I just couldn't wait a _moment_ longer. Where's Alexis?"   
  
"She's sleeping," Castle replies, a warning in his tone.   
  
"Well wake her up," Meredith declares. "I owe her about three years worth of gifts."   
  
"You're not taking her shopping," Castle warns. "She has school."   
  
Meredith huffs out an uninterested breath at that. "She can miss a day of school."   
  
"No, she can't, and she won't," he tells her firmly. He opens the front door, and gestures for her to leave. "You can stop by once she's done with school."   
  
"Ha," Meredith laughs. And he knows that means his daughter will be pulled out of school and there won't be a single thing he'll be able to do to stop it.   
  
He closes the door after her, turns his back to it, and slides down to the floor. "Kill me," he pleads to his mother. "Please, just _shoot_ me."   
  
Martha gives her son a curious smile, her eyes drifting to his study. He pushes himself to his feet, his eyes following her gaze, and he groans. "Don't ask, please, don't ask."   
  
The bedroom door opens, and then she doesn't need to ask anymore.   
  
"Good morning, Martha," a fully-dressed but red-faced Kate mumbles as she walks between mother and son. "I'll see you at the precinct," she says quickly to Castle, before slipping out the front door without another word.   
  
"Oh. Richard," Martha says. But she's not looking at her son, her gaze has drifted to where Alexis stands watching silently, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, frozen halfway down the stairs.   
  
"Like I said," he mutters, leaning over the kitchen counter, dropping his head onto his arms, "Kill me now."


	9. Chapter 9

 

  
**_Always Buy Retail_ ** **filler/post-ep**

* * *

  
"Nice of you to join us," Esposito announces dryly as Castle arrives at the crime scene. He's late; the detectives are already finishing up, and the body is being prepped to be moved to the lab. His eyes shift over the markings on the body, his brain registering all the familiar aspects, making sense of what he's seeing.   
  
"Castle?" Ryan prods.   
  
He snaps his attention back to the guys. "I, uh, had- My ex-wife is threatening to move back to town." At the detectives' glazed looks, he adds, "My first ex-wife, Meredith, Alexis' mom."   
  
"And this is a bad thing?" Ryan asks.   
  
"Very bad." At Beckett's eye roll, he adds, "Pretty much her worst idea ever."   
  
"Castle!" Beckett snaps. "Crime scene, dead body, little respect here."   
  
"Right." Without missing a beat, he gestures down with a wave of a finger. "Check out his mouth, there's probably a little pouch in there." There's most definitely a little pouch in there. Oooh, this case is gonna be fun...   


 

* * *

  
"Thanks for the text," he says slowly, as Beckett pulls her cruiser away from the curb. "Would've been nice to receive it before you did the epic walk of shame out of my home, but an hour later is fine too."   
  
Kate avoids his eyes as she eases the car into a gap in the traffic. "I got the call, and I had to leave." She shrugs, eyes still on the road. "And you had enough to deal with."   
  
"More than you realize."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Alexis heard her mom's voice this morning. Imagine her surprise when she comes down the stairs to find Detective Beckett slinking out the front door."   
  
Kate's mouth drops open, and she turns to him, horrified. "Okay, first of all, I did not slink. Second of all, Oh my God, _Castle_! Is she- I- What-"   
  
"It's okay." Castle smirks. "I was intentionally vague. Whatever she thinks she knows she won't repeat to Meredith."   
  
"And your mom?"   
  
"Is already planning on having you over for dinner."   
  
"Um... Okay," she replies slowly, her eyes darting between Castle and the road. "I'm not sure I'm ready for... _that_." She gnaws, almost painfully, on her lower lip. It's too much, too soon. "Will anyone be home now?"   
  
"Rest assured, dear Detective, you won't have to do any explaining in the next few hours."   
  
"Okay, good," she replies, her concerned eyes meeting his. "I just.. Well, there wasn't another exit I could slip out through this morning; I see enough fire escapes doing this job."   
  
Castle shrugs. "They would have found out eventually."   
  
She turns her eyes back to the road, and sighs softly. She hates him a little bit for the fact he's too blase about it, and she swears to God if he's enjoying this even a little bit she'll start sleeping with her gun under the pillow in his bed too.   


 

* * *

  
"No, I am not going to wait downstairs. Do you have any idea who pays your salary? Me and my taxes." A voice rings out through the bullpen. Castle shrinks back. His eyes snap to Beckett, who's eying him in suspicion, and yeah, he's pretty sure his testicles just retracted in anticipation of the crap that's about to go down.   
  
"Is that...?"   
  
Castle swallows thickly. "Uh, yep."   
  
"Richard! Over here!"   
  
Castle throws a look to Beckett, who returns it with force.   
  
'"Meredith, what a surprise." His tone makes it clear it's not the good kind of surprise. He's even less thrilled that his daughter - who's supposed to be at _school_ \- is trudging through the precinct, a couple of steps behind her mother, attempting to hide behind her long red hair.   
  
If Meredith hears the strain in his voice she ignores it, her eyes lighting up as she glances around the bullpen, taking it all in. Alexis stands a step behind her mother, uncomfortable, quiet, ready to bolt. "I know. Isn't it great?" Meredith smiles at Beckett as she speaks, but there's a gleam in her eyes that screams _I know_. "In LA, no one ever just stops by. Don't you just love this town?"   
  
"More and more by the minute," Kate mutters. She shoots Castle a look that clearly says she'll kill him if Meredith outs them, and he nods in response.   
  
"Uh, Meredith, these are Detectives Ryan, Esposito, and Beckett."   
  
"Oh, Beckett. Your new _muse_. Alexis told me all about it..."   
  
"I-" But Alexis is cut off by a wave of her mother's hand.   
  
"...and I simply had to stop by." She looks Beckett up and down, leans in conspiratorially, and says, "You know, I was his inspiration once."   
  
"Were you now?" Kate replies dryly.   
  
"Still am from time to time. Right, kitten?"   
  
"Kitten?" Kate asks, raising an eyebrow at Castle.   
  
"I had this dream once," he begins ruefully, "only I was naked and far less embarrassed." He looks to Kate, who's throwing him a glare that clearly says, _get her out of here_.   
  
Meredith's attention diverted to the murder board, Kate catches Alexis' eye and smiles kindly.   
  
"Alexis?" Kate gestures for the teen to follow her to the break room. "We can wait for your dad in there." There's a moment of hesitation, a brief flash of uncertainty in Alexis' eyes, before she nods slowly and follows.   


 

* * *

  
Alexis stands awkwardly beside the table, her eyes shifting around the break room, anywhere but at Beckett. "I didn't-" The words leave her lips softly, but she's shaking her head and sighing. "Mom asked, and I can't lie to her, Detective."   
  
"It's okay, Alexis."   
  
"I mean, I only told her what I saw this morning. I mean. I said. You left. Early." Her sentences are broken, disjointed. "I didn't repeat what dad told me, which was nothing, really."   
  
"It's okay," Kate repeats gently. She smiles reassuringly. "Really, it's fine."   
  
"Are you dating my dad?"   
  
"I..." Kate frowns, her head tilts slightly, and her lips part while she considers her answer. "Um."   
  
Alexis watches in confusion. "Yes or no is fine."   
  
"I'm-" Kate sighs. "We're... It's complicated?"   
  
"Why do adults always say that?" Alexis asks, exhaling a long, confused sigh.   
  
Castle breezes in, and throws Kate an apologetic smile. "I'll take you home, Alexis." The tension in the room hits him; he sees it all over Kate's face, sees it in the stiff way his daughter is standing. "Everything okay in here?"   
  
"I think Alexis has a question for you later, and you _need_ to answer it."   
  
Okay," he draws the word out. "Should I be concerned about this question?" He asks Kate under his breath.   
  
Kate is silent in response, and his quiet daughter is looking less impressed with each passing second.   
  
"Okay," he replies in resignation, a sense of dread hanging over him. "This day just keeps getting better." He shakes it off. "Meredith," he begins carefully, "had some insight into the case."   
  
At Kate's raised eyebrow, he quickly adds, "Ryan and Esposito will catch you up while I take Alexis home." Wrapping his arm around his daughter's shoulders he tugs her out of the break room, ignoring the soft sounds of protest from Alexis, and Kate's frustrated, "Castle!"   


 

* * *

  
Kate leans against the wall, arms folded across her chest, ignoring the smug look on Castle's face. "Baylor's gonna make it. You okay, Castle?"   
  
"My first gun battle," he replies proudly.   
  
Kate raises an eyebrow at him. "Your _last_ gun battle."   
  
"Mm. Don't be so pessimistic. I think I handled myself pretty well."   
  
"Yeah," she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. "Probably saved my life."   
  
Castle huffs at her words. " _Probably_? I definitely saved your life. And you know what that means, don't you? It means you owe me."   
  
She pushes away from the wall; her folded arms tighten, and she takes on a more defensive pose. "Owe you what?"   
  
"Whatever I want." He steps into her personal space, his breath tickling her cheek as he leans in to whisper into her ear, "And you know exactly what I want, don't you? You know what I really, really, want you to do."   
  
All of the things she really wants to do to him flash through her mind, and her cheeks flare with a sudden heat. She's waiting for his lips to graze her skin, and she's so turned on by his body so close to hers she might even let him do it. But he's taking too long, teasing her, and she's too on edge. She doesn't give a damn what he wants, but she knows exactly what she wants. Her fingers grip at his lapels, and she tugs him closer, and into his ear she whispers, "My place. Now."   
  
He pulls back, swallows. "Now?" His voice is a little higher in surprise.   
  
She groans, and leans back. "No," she says, despondent. "I discharged my weapon. I have forms-" She waves a hand in the air dismissively, but, dammit, it means paperwork and a headache. "Tonight?"   
  
He smiles. "Your place?"   
  
"Definitely," she replies. "Your place is off-limits until Meredith's back in LA."   
  
"No arguments here."   


 

* * *

  
She opens the door, and is ready to just drag him inside, when she sees his arms laden with...   
"Did you bring food?"   
  
He nods, shuffling his way over to the kitchen counter to deposit the items. "Chinese," he announces.   
  
"And wine," she says, looking at the pile of items. "And a movie?"   
  
He shrugs. "Is that okay?"   
  
"Yeah, of course, that's fine." She blinks, and then chuckles softly.   
  
"What?" He asks, a confused smile playing on his lips.   
  
"Nothing," she says. The paperwork really killed her mood anyway, although finding it again would not have been difficult. "Just, this isn't what I was expecting." And then it clicks. "You spoke with Alexis. You're easing me into dinner with your family, aren't you?"   
  
Busted. "Maybe?" So busted. "My mother will stuff you with food, and wine, and my daughter will force you to watch a movie afterwards, and I just... I didn't want it to be..."   
  
"It's going to be weird no matter what," Kate tells him.   
  
"It doesn't have to be, though."   
  
Her shoulders slump a little as she accepts her fate. "Ease me into it then."   


 

* * *

  
Sunlight filters through the blinds, and Castle blinks as he rouses. As his eyes focus, he takes in her bedroom, seeing it properly for the first time. They hadn't turned a light on last night, had just fallen gracelessly into bed, wrapped up in one another, a tangle of limbs. Now, he's absorbing it all, learning as much about her as he can.   
  
Kate wakes, and quietly watches him as he gazes around her room. "Learning all my secrets, Castle?" She asks, her voice a little huskier in the mornings.   
  
"Just looking," he replies, his own voice gravelly.   
  
"And?"   
  
"You read Patterson," he mutters, his eyes having fallen to the hardcover on her nightstand. "A habit we'll need to break you out of." He ignores her annoyed sigh, and continues to scan the room. "You've traveled, lots of souvenirs from your trips. But, classy souvenirs, not cheap tourist crap. Things that actually mean something to you, things that hold memories." She's silent, so he continues. "Your dad has a cabin, judging from this photo beside me, you probably spent summers there as a kid." He reaches over the side of the bed, and picks up a magazine that's fallen there. "You read _The New York Review of Books_?" His eyes light up in surprise, a lilt in his voice.   
  
"Oh so many layers to the Beckett onion, however will you peel them all," she sasses.   
  
"I'm impressed," he admits. He places the magazine back on the floor, and glances to the nightstand on her side of the bed, and the photo there. "Your mom was beautiful," he finishes softly.   
  
"We're not talking about my mom, Castle," she warns.   
  
He raises his hands in surrender. "I'm just stating facts."   
  
She slants her mouth over him, throws a leg over his hips, and pulls their bodies together. Kate lures his attention away from wearisome, painful topics of conversation, and gives his mouth - and mind - something else to focus on.


	10. Chapter 10

  
**_ Home is where the heart stops  _ ** ** filler  **   
** Set from the charity event onwards... **   


* * *

  
_ She's on-duty. She's on-duty. She's on-duty.  _   
  
But she's in his arms, her hips pressed hard to his, and she's struggling to focus. Their bodies move with the music that flows around them, they step in time, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands holding her waist securely. They step, sway, step, and he dips her. She tries to remember she's supposed to be looking for potential suspects, but with her pelvis pressed so tight to his she can barely think about anything except dragging him into a bathroom stall, sliding this ridiculously tight dress up, and being so completely filled by him a symphony of salacious sounds leave her lips.   
  
_ She's on-duty. She's on-duty. She's on-duty. _   
  
"I was just talking to the Head of Donor Development over there," Castle tells her as he twirls her away, and she tries not to focus on how she misses his warmth and to focus on the woman in the distance instead. She's pulled back into his arms as he adds, "She seems to know an awful lot about me."   
  
Kate rolls her eyes, her fingers clutching at his shoulder. "She's not the only one," she tells him dryly. "Did you know that they call you the White Whale?"   
  
"The White Whale?" He asks, somewhat disappointed by that.   
  
"Mmmhmmm."   
  
"Not Moby-"   
  
"No," she interrupts quickly, before he can say the word that will send her brain to places it shouldn't be going because she's _on-duty_. "She's in Donor Development," Kate reminds him, switching back to professional mode. "It's her job to know about you. Besides, she doesn't strike me as a criminal mastermind."   
  
"Still, I think we should take a second look. Two, three, dip..."   
  
And then she feels his pelvis sharp against hers again; her body heats up, her pulse races, and if she doesn't get out of his arms soon she might implode. Why isn't he pulling her back up out of the dip so she can escape? "Castle? A little help." She hisses, back bent, blood rushing to her head, leaving her dizzy.   
  
He pulls her body up, until her chest collides with his. "It's Powell." His breath warms her already over-heated skin as he mutters the words into her ear.   
  
She ignores the fluttering in her stomach, the tingling that's been creeping ever lower since he first pulled her onto the dance floor. "The jewel thief?"   
  
He pulls away from her, leaves her on the dance floor, and she feels instantly cold. They need to wrap this up _quickly_.   
  


* * *

  
Kate blocks out as much of the charity auction as she can; she's trying not to focus on the fact another woman will be having dinner with him soon. She's jealous, she can admit that to herself. She wants him, all to herself. And now he's admitted to his daughter that they're dating, now that it's been said out loud and is somewhat official - even if they're yet to say it to one another - like hell she's happy about another woman sitting opposite him in an upmarket restaurant, running her tongue along her lower lip, touching her hair, giggling at his lame-ass jokes, and then lunging at him with her suction-cup lips and octopus arms.   
  
"Look, I have money. Anything you pay, I'll pay you back," he pleads with her. And oh, God, she wants nothing more than to agree. But to draw attention to herself like that, to basically out them to everyone _including_ Esposito and Ryan? She can't.   
  
She keeps her tone light, forces mirth into her voice, and replies, "Oh, not a chance in hell, Castle." But she's jealous, and it stirs something new within her.   
  


* * *

  
Paul Reynold's arrested, Kate brushes off Castle's badge question with a 'Don't ask', because she'll be showing him soon. She wraps up the interrogation at the precinct, and throws Castle a look as she breezes past him on her way back to her desk. He follows in her wake, hovering while she finishes up for the night, helping where he can.   
  
He senses her urgency, and turns his chair to face her, asking if he can help. She shakes her head, her eyes still on the forms in front of her. Her fingers find his thigh under the desk, trail a hot path up the inner seam of his pants, and he jolts up in his chair as she cups the bulge between his legs, and squeezes.   
  
She hides her smirk behind two fingers to her lips, pen gripped between those fingers, and appears to concentrate on the paperwork, while her other hand works to unfasten his pants, and finally slips inside.   
  
"Beckett," he hisses. "If we don't get out of here soon..."   
  
"I know," she replies under her breath. She shifts her legs, her thighs brushing together, creating friction as the seam of her denim jeans rubs between her legs. Last word scrawled, she pushes her chair back, and stands abruptly. He lingers in his own chair. "You coming?" She asks playfully.   
  
"Uh." He swallows thickly, and casually works at refastening his pants under the desk. "I'll catch up. I have to, uh, wait a few minutes."   
  
She chuckles as she walks off, pleased to have left him in a state similar to the one she's been in all damn night.   
  


* * *

  
Kate drags him into her bedroom, bra unclasped, the straps sliding down her shoulders, kicking her jeans aside while she pushes Castle's shirt off his own shoulders. Her fingertips dance over his broad chest, her lips follow, until she's touching and tasting a delicious hot trail down his torso. He makes quick work of his pants, the last of the clothing hastily removed, until it becomes nothing more than a puddle of expensive material around his feet.   
  
She slides down the bed; her back nestles against the pillows, her legs splay, and she crooks one finger to beckon him over.   
He settles between her long legs, poised at her entrance. Their noses brush and she grins at him. He's being a gentleman, he's making sure she's ready, but she's been ready since that dance and she needs him _now_. Her hands grip his ass, and she pulls his body to hers until he's sliding inside her, and she takes all of him in one smooth thrust, her muscles fluttering to accommodate his impressive size.   
  
Hips raised, she rocks against him, meeting each of his long hard thrusts. Noses brush, eyes lock, lips meet, and the flutter in her stomach moves up to take residence in her heart. She is jealous of the idea of his dinner date, so she lets him know, with quick rolls of her hips, the hard jolt of her pelvis meeting his, her teeth catching his lower lip, her nails digging into his skin. She's jealous. Because during all this, somewhere, somehow, she's let part of her wall down, she's let him in, and she's falling in love with him.   
  
A soft almost-sob leaves her lips as the realization hits her, and she clings to him, covering the sound with the press of her mouth, open and hot, to his jaw, her tongue scraping against his smooth skin. Her body tightens, she stills, and her release washes over her with the words _I love you_ dangling precariously on the tip of her tongue.


	11. Chapter 11

  
**_ Ghosts _ ** ** post-ep **   


* * *

  
She tastes like gummy bears.   
  
He kisses her as they step into her apartment, his hands a whisper of a caress at her hips, guiding her backwards at a leisurely pace into the darkened room.   
  
The jovial poker game had turned into a ride home, turned into his hands easing through her short, soft hair while his lips grazed her temple, trailed lower, had turned into his body pressing hers against the solid apartment door, while his fingers closed around the keys in her hand and slid the right one calmly into the lock.   
  
His lips slide over hers, her tongue pushes into his mouth, and he tastes the sweet fruity hints of the candy she had chewed the entire drive to her place.   
  
He hadn't let her win this time. She had beaten his ass, fair and square, and claimed the candy that was already hers. She had made sure to eat it all in front of him, slowly, savoring each individual gummy bear, while he had tried to focus on the road, and not on her mouth.   
  
But he has noticed this about her, he knows about that secret stash of candy she keeps in her desk, has watched as she grazes between phone calls, or while filling in forms. If she doesn't have her lips wrapped around a cup of coffee, she's placing peanuts, or candy, or popcorn into her mouth.   
  
There are a few jokes about her oral fixation that he's been dying to make.   
But he's the one constantly staring at her lips, so he keeps them to himself.   
  
The lips that are now moving against his; soft, full, parted lips, slick with a tinted lip balm that's transferring to his own.   
Her nimble fingers work smoothly at getting his pants off, and he feels the slight, fluid, upwards curve of her mouth against his, wonders if his plea from earlier is now running through her head.   
" _Please, beat my pants off."_   
  
But she remains quiet, keeps her lips pressed firmly to his, neither willing to break the contact. There's a languorous flow to their movements as they maneuver and side-step around furniture to reach her bedroom; they're in no rush tonight. Clothes drift to the floor, settle, leaving puddles of material in their dreamy wake.   
  
They step into her bedroom wrapped in their haze; the hum of arousal flows through them, but it's different tonight.   
He can feel it in her kiss, in her fingertips as they ghost his skin. He feels it in his body's own response to her.   
He doesn't focus on it, tries not to let the emotions take hold but...   
The lackadaisical air, the calm that surrounds them, it makes his heart swell; her eyes are locked on his, and he sees it all in them, hears it like she has spoken the words out loud.   
  
He sits on the bed, breaking the kiss as he eases her onto his lap, and a soft groan leaves her lips as her slick folds slide against him. She wraps her legs around his waist, in graceful, limber movements. His hands cup her firm behind, her arms wrap around his neck, and he slips easily inside her.   
  
Eyes locked, they move together, the gentle roll of her hips, the smooth glide of his length within her. Her muscles flutter around him with each slow, careful thrust, with each rotation of her hips that swirls her inner walls around him as he withdraws.   
She has stifled sobs in the past, he knows. She doesn't now. Her lips cover his, and soft sighs, low whimpers and sobs, fill his mouth, his heart, his soul.   
  
Her head drops to his shoulder, her arms hold him in a tight embrace, and with each roll of her hips with his he hears it, everything that goes unspoken, louder and louder.   
  
He's lost count of the amount of times they've had sex. This is the first time they've made love.   
  
He writes her a happier ending with the gentle thrusts of his hips, with his lips upon her skin, with his fingertips grazing her lower back.   
  
She deciphers every stroke.


	12. Chapter 12

  
**_ Little Girl Lost _ ** .   
_ Scene rewrites/post-ep.  _   
_ I would have happily rewritten this whole episode to fit in with this fic, but I've just taken bits and pieces. Might be helpful to have the ep fresh in your mind, but hopefully it's cohesive _ .   


* * *

  
"Six months." Kate shifts her weight uncomfortably, her eyes locked on the closed elevator doors. She feels his eyes boring into her, yet she refuses to meet them.   
  
"Six months what?"   
  
She hears the smile in his voice, and inhales a breath. She holds it, and uses that time to silently curse him for forcing it out of her with awkward silences and obvious questions. "We dated for six months." The words leave her mouth as she exhales.   
  
"I didn't ask."   
  
"Yeah, I know. You were not asking very loudly."   
  
"I know, I'm like a Jedi like that."   
  
She ignores his tone, ignores the fact he's staring at her again.   
  
"And now he's back."   
  
"Now he's back," she agrees.   
  
"And what does that mean?"   
  
She turns, lifts her eyes to his, and sees the concern in them. He's worried, genuinely worried, because he thought he had her and now her ex has shown up - and dear lord is he jealous? "It means we solve the case quickly so he can be on his way again."   
  
"Sounds good to me," he replies as the elevator dings, and she escapes out ahead of him.   
  


* * *

  
Kate chuckles at Will's lame joke, cradling her cup of coffee. "That sounds like something Castle would say." The words leave her mouth without her permission.   
  
"You like him," Will states.   
  
There's a sadness in his tone that fires straight through her chest and punctures her heart. She meets his eyes, and it's clear he already knows the answer. "Yeah," she replies. There's no point denying it.   
  
He leans back against the counter, defeated, studying her body language with intense eyes. "So you're together?"   
  
"Yeah." A short, clipped answer, because she really doesn't want to have this conversation in the Candela's kitchen.   
  
"That's disappointing," he replies, his voice a little colder now, the warmth in his eyes fading.   
  
"Will-" she begins, a sharp edge to her tone, warning him to back off.   
  
"Wow," he cuts in, "okay, you like him _a lot_." At her intense glare, he asks, surprise filling his voice, "You're in love with him?"   
  
She doesn't nod, doesn't speak, she simply turns her back to him, focusing on the coffee machine, and it's all the answer he needs.   
  
"Huh, okay," Will replies slowly. He takes a breath, asks, "How long have you two been together?"   
  
"About six months," she replies softly.   
  
"Six months?" He ponders under his breath, before raising it to add, "Would you follow him to Boston?"   
  
"Wow," she mutters. "Really?" She asks, turning to face him.   
  
"Look, I'm sorry, Kate. I can't help it if I still care about you, okay?"   
  
"Well I've moved on," she tells him firmly.   
  
"With Writer Monkey."   
  
"Yes," she replies, her voice strong. She refuses to comment on the name, correct him, and brushes it off like it doesn't bother her.   
  
"So I wonder, Kate, are you in love with him?" He pauses, to give her a moment to consider his words, before adding, "Or with the idea of him, the one you conjured up during those long nights following your mom's death, the ones you spent getting lost in his books?"   
  
She hates that she ever told him about that, hates that he remembers it still.   
  
A throat is cleared from the entrance to the kitchen and she looks up sharply, her heart sinking in her chest as her eyes meet Castle's - and it's clear he heard every single word.   
  


* * *

  
He's all wired-up, taped, and ready to go, to drop the bag - their best shot. Her eyes drift to his shirt, and she steps up to him, and begins doing up his buttons. He stands still, a small smile creeping onto his face while she works. "Be careful, okay," she tells him as the last button slips through the hole.   
  
He tucks his shirt into his jeans, his head tilted slightly, his eyes studying her. "Do I detect actual concern for my well-being?"   
  
She reaches for his hand, and squeezes it. "Be careful." Her eyes hold his, and she nods slightly. _It's going to be okay_. She's concerned, and she can't hide it. _It has to be okay._   
  
He squeezes her hand in return, and then his lips curl up in the beginnings of a smirk. "When I get back we should discuss just how big of a fan you are of my books."   
  
Her cheeks heat up, and she's sure she's blushing, but when the grin lights up his face she can't suppress her own smile. "Yeah, we're not going to do that," she tells him, her tone lighter, her eyes shining.   
  
"Oh come on, you've gotta give me some kind of reward for this," he whines.   
  
She tugs him close, fingers clutching at his shirt, pulling his body to hers. Her lips find his ear, her breath heating his already warm skin, and she murmurs so that only he can hear, "Oh, I will."   
  


* * *

  
He tries to sneak around Kate's sleeping form, only glancing up a few times at her relaxed body in the chair, before returning his attention to his search around Angela's bedroom. Beckett's cute when she's asleep - and when she's concentrating on something, and when she's annoyed, and when she's writhing beneath him just seconds from… Okay, she's cute all the time. He's got it bad, he knows.   
  
And he can't find the damn bunny.   
  
She stirs. "Castle?" She asks, her eyes blinking as she wakes up, clearing the cobwebs of sleep and adjusting to the lack of light in the room.   
  
He moves over to her through the sea of stuffed animals, and rests his arms on the sides of her chair while they speak, his body close to hers, their eyes connecting in the dark bedroom. He tells her about the bunny, about Alexis and Monkey Bunkey, and he sees the instant it all clicks into place and she understands. It lights up her eyes in the dark bedroom, and he can't help but lean into her and brush a grateful kiss across her lips. He spoke barely three sentences and she gets it. He loves moments like this, where it all comes together, a blinding flash of realization, that connection they've had since day one that almost overwhelms him sometimes.   
  


* * *

  
Kate sits on her couch, case solved, Angela back with her father, but her arms hold the memory of the child she had cradled. It stirs a feeling within her, one she had squashed down long ago, a feeling she had sworn she would not allow to take hold again until she had a career, a home, a husband. She's thirty this year, in a few months, and one day, in the next five or so years, she wants one. A baby. And Castle sitting beside her talking about his own daughter isn't helping her repress the urges.   
  
"I was twenty five when Alexis was born," he tells her, a glass of red wine in one hand, his other drawing lazy circles on her knee. "And Alexis wasn't much older than Angela when I found myself raising her alone."   
  
"What happened?" She asks, turning her body into his, curious.   
  
"Ah, okay," he begins, clearly surprised, but going along with it anyway. "She cheated," he tells her simply.   
  
"Meredith cheated on you?"   
  
He nods. "Surprised it wasn't the other way around?"   
  
"Oh, no," she replies quickly. "I wasn't thinking that at all. I just…"   
  
"Wonder how anyone could cheat on this?" His hand leaves her knee to gesture at his body.   
  
She smiles, but there's no mirth in it. "I'm sorry, Castle," she tells him solemnly. "That's really sad, that she did that to you."   
  
He shrugs, his hand returning to her knee, sweeping patterns up and over her thigh. "I had great support, and we got through it." He tells her. "I hope the same for Mr Candela."   
  
She is silent for a moment, absorbing it all. "You didn't have anything to be worried about, Castle."   
  
"Hmmm?" He asks, still thinking of the father now raising a daughter alone.   
  
"With Will," she clarifies.   
  
"I wasn't," he lies. She raises her eyebrows at him, and he cracks. "Okay, fine, I was- a little jealous," he admits.   
  
"There was no need to be."   
  
"I realized that after overhearing the end of your conversation in the kitchen." Kate pulls away, but he's quick. He places his wine glass on the coffee table, wraps his arm around her shoulders, and tugs her body to his. At her resistance, he says, "We don't need to talk about whatever it was I overheard. Not right now, anyway."   
She lets out a long sigh, and studies him. His arm rests across her shoulders, and his eyes shine with curiosity despite his words. "It was- it was really difficult," she begins slowly, dipping her head, dropping her gaze to the floor. A rueful chuckle leaves her lips, and she shakes her head. "And that's understating it," she tells him. She lifts her chin, and meets his eyes. "Your books helped. I read them," she admits. "I needed the escape."   
  
"I'm glad they helped," he tells her gently.   
  
"I stood in line for an hour once, just to see you, to get my copy signed. You were sweet," she tells him, smiling lightly. "And a bit of a jackass."   
  
He grins broadly at her words. "Sounds like me."   
  
"Yeah," she agrees, her voice soft. "And you're still a bit of a jackass." At his wounded expression she chuckles softly, and adds, "But you're also incredibly sweet."   
  
He tugs at her shoulder once more, and she falls into his embrace with ease. She settles against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. She curls her legs up under her, sinking into his warmth.   
  
"Look at you," he says gently. "Look what Sorenson lost." His lips graze the top of her head, and his words wrap around her as he murmurs, "I would have fought harder." And all she can do is nod, because he has no idea just how good she can be at pushing people away. Especially those she loves.


	13. Chapter 13

  
**_ A Death in the Family  _ ** ** scene rewrite _._ **   


* * *

  
She's draped over him, knees pressed into the mattress, body heaving as she catches her breath.  
  
The lamp burns bright on the bedside table, illuminating her flushed skin, and his eyes travel slowly along the curve of her spine. The tips of his fingers dance up her sides, memorizing the smooth curves of her ribs, before he trails his ghost-like touch to her back. He feels the sharpness of her scapulae move beneath his hands when she reaches down to tug the sheet over them.   
  
The air is cool in her bedroom; he smiles as she snuggles into him, and feels the slide of her legs on either side of his as she stretches her tight muscles out. She lets out a slow, contented sigh, and then eases off him. He misses her warmth instantly, but it's only a brief loss. She's soon pressing her sated body against his side, laying her cheek to his shoulder. She traces his clavicle with the tips of two fingers, her touch tickling his over-sensitized skin, before her palm settles over his heart, and rests on his chest.   
He can't help it. As they lay there, her room bathed in a soft light, he needs to glance around, and so he does. It's rare that she invites him into her bed, with most nights ending at his own loft, and so he uses these moments to gather as much insight into her as he can.  
  
He knows he's falling in love, he senses she might be too, but he still feels a barrier between them, still feels like she's holding back. What he can't learn from watching her he tries to learn from the myriad of items she keeps in her bedroom, on the walls, on the shelves, on the dresser.   
His gaze lingers on the photo of her mom, the glossy shine of the paper lit up by the bedside light above it. He has secrets of his own, of what he's been doing behind her back, and he feels the disapproval of Johanna Beckett, for keeping such thing from her daughter.  
He breaks a little, and his eyes shift from the photo on the table to the woman almost asleep in his arms.   
"Hey," he begins, his voice low. She hums against him, confirmation she's still awake, so he continues, "can I ask you something?"   
  
She slowly opens her eyes, and lifts her head, concerned. "Since when do you ask permission to ask questions?"   
  
He inhales deeply, and her own body tenses up against his in response.  
  
"It's about your mother's case," he tells her, and as she pushes off him, her hand pressing painfully hard on his chest as she tries to put distance between them, he adds, "Have you ever thought about reopening it?"   
  
She sits up, shifts as far to her side of the bed as she can go, and tugs the sheet around her chest, an aegis around her heart. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Nothing," he lies, rolling onto his side to face her, trying to ignore the burn of the eyes of the woman in the photo behind him. "I just thought if we worked together-"   
  
She's shaking her head, hurt shining in her eyes. "No."   
  
Castle sits up, naked and exposed, and the coldness in her eyes only adds to the cool bite in the room, and he shivers a little. "I have resources," he reminds her. He's been using these resources already.   
  
"Castle," she begins, her voice rough, her pain raw, her heart breaking before him. "You touch my mother's case, and you and I are done. Do you understand?"   
  
"Okay." And it should end there, but he can't rid his brain of the thoughts, and he can't silence his mouth. He knows he's hurting her, but the worst pain, the one that's stayed with her since '99, still as fresh as the day it happened, he could ease that a little bit. If she'd only let him help her. "Why don't you want to investigate it?"   
  
She wraps the sheet tighter around her, her fists clenching at the corners to keep it in place. "Same reason a recovering alcoholic doesn't drink," she tells him as plainly as she can. When he blinks in confusion, she says, "You don't think I haven't been down there? You don't think I haven't memorized every line in that file? My first three years on the force, every off-duty moment was spent looking for something someone missed. It took me a year of therapy to realize, if I didn't let it go, it was going to destroy me." She swallows down the pain, blinks back the tears, and says in a broken voice, "And so I let it go."   
  
He reaches for her hand, but she refuses to allow the contact, still holding the sheet, still recoiling from him. "Sorry," he apologizes, his own heart just a little more broken for her. "I didn't know."   
  
"Yeah, well, now you do," she replies with a bitter edge to her tone.   
  
He won't push it, not tonight. He wants to tell her how he would be there, would stand at her side, and together they could solve this. But she's seconds from forcing him out of her apartment, he can see it in her eyes. If he told her now, how he got the file, how he'd sought advice from people she doesn't even know, and was already investigating, he'd lose her. A phalanx of police, of lawyers, of whoever she sent to his door to force him out of her life forever, would be inevitable. And no amount of doctors would ever be able to put his heart back together.   
He nods carefully, and apologizes again. He coaxes her to him with an extended hand, but there's a hesitance in her movements as she ignores his outstretched hand and settles onto her back. He drops a kiss to her temple, and she closes her eyes, but he sees the tremble in her lips, hears the soft crippled shudder of breath that she exhales as she calms herself down. He's breaking her trust by bringing it up, breaking both their hearts, but still he knows he'll keep looking into it, knows he'll bring it up again.   
  
Even if it means he loses her.


	14. Chapter 14

  
**_ Death in the Family _ ** ** filler/post-ep. **   


* * *

  
_ Castle, you touch my mom's case and you and I are done. _   
Kate's voice repeats in his head, reminding him of all he's going to be giving up, and between the loops his mother's voice chimes in, reminding him over and over that _she has to know_. The hospital corridors seem endless, stretching out like a labyrinth before him, giving him too much time to replay conversations, and create worst-case scenarios.   
  
_ She said if I opened the file that we'd be through.  _   
  
He's about to lose her, he knows it, still he pushes forward, down smooth, bland corridors, the smell of disinfectant burning his nostrils, the fluorescent lights giving him a false sense of daylight on this cold, rainy night. Everything is fake, it all just tries too hard. _He's_ trying too hard. To help her. To ease her pain. To bring a little light to that dark corner of her soul, and fix her broken heart.   
  
He finds her, where he knew she would be. She's in there, with Mr F.B.I, Mr. dark, brooding, and judgmental, and despite the fact the man's been shot Castle's feeling a twinge of jealousy. He watches, surreptitiously from the hall, glancing casually through the glass to see what's happening. Nothing much changes. Kate sits awfully close to Sorenson's hospital bed, leaning in to speak to him in what Castle can only guess are hushed tones. They split a doughnut, talk some more, and while the news he has to share with Kate is keeping him out in the corridor, the need to break up that little conversation propels him forward.   
  


* * *

  
She glances up at the knock at the door, and her heart sinks as she takes in Castle's body language. He's too serious, and it worries her.   
  
Will is the first to speak, his words severing the eye-contact between her and Castle. "It's the writer monkey. What is he still doing here? Haven't you finished your book yet?"   
  
"Last chapter," he lies easily. To Beckett, he asks, "Do you have a sec?"   
  
She brushes the crumbs from her hands, hesitant but curious. "Yeah."   
  
"Watch it, Kate. He's in love with you," Will mutters from the bed as Kate walks away.   
  
She brushes it off as she steps up to Castle. "You'll have to forgive him. He is heavily medicated." But there's a look in Castle's eye that makes her wonder if Will's right. Makes her wonder how they got here, how something that started so casual led to her falling in love. She's usually has more control over her heart.   
  
She follows him out into the corridor, and she furrows her brow as his eyes darken. "You look awfully serious. Is everything okay?"   
  
"Take a seat."   
  
She glances down at the plastic chairs as nervous laughter escapes her lips. "What?"   
  
"Sit down," he pleads.   
  
Fear grips her. "Castle, what's going on?"   
  
He steps in a little closer to her. "It's about your mother," he tells her, and the words force her back.   
  
She sinks down into the chair, and holds a hand up to keep him where he is. "Castle, what are you doing?"   
  
"I found something."   
  
She huffs out a frustrated breath, and drops her gaze to the floor. "You've been looking into my mom's case?" She lifts her head, hurt eyes boring into him. "After I specifically told you not to."   
  
"Yes," he replies.   
  
"How could you?" she hisses, her voice wavering.   
  
"I wanted to help you-"   
  
"I don't need your help."   
  
"But I found something," he repeats, his tone firm.   
  
She shakes her head at him, and struggles for a moment to articulate all the anger and pain swirling inside her. She holds up a hand again, this time to silence him, her index finger indicating she needs a minute. Exhaling an uneven breath, she asks, "What did you find?"   
  
It spurs him on; he knows he needs to get it out as quickly as possible, before she stands, and leaves him behind. "It wasn't a random killing," he tells her simply. "It was a targeted murder."   
  
"Excuse me?" she asks, disbelief filling her tone, clouding her eyes.   
  
He takes a breath, prepares his words, and steels himself for her response. "The wounds…" And then he falters, because he can't do this, not here.   
  
"Just tell me," she whispers. She glances around the empty corridor, and then nods up at him. "The wounds what?"   
  
He sits in the empty chair beside her. "I have evidence, suggesting the killer knew exactly what he was doing, in one…" He makes a stabbing motion with his hand, and then drops both hands into his lap, silently chiding himself for such an action. "The rest of the wounds were just for show."   
  
Her body visibly shakes as she exhales, her fingernails digging into her knees as she absorbs his words. "Is that it?"   
  
"No."   
  
She lifts her head, and meets his eyes. "Just say it, Castle. Tell me. What?"   
  
"Three more stabbings, brushed off as random, occurred around the same time. But they're linked, Kate. They're linked to your mom's death."   
  
She scrubs her hands over her face, through her hair. She leans forward, elbows on her thighs, hands covering her ears, like she can't hear anymore. "I have to-" She swallows down the lump, blinks back the tears.   
  
He fixes his eyes on her slumped frame. "Kate?"   
  
She straightens, lifts her chin, her hands now clenched into fists on her lap, and holds his concerned eyes with fierce determination. "Just, no. Enough," she tells him, as she pushes herself to her feet, and fights against the unsteadiness in her legs.   
  
"Kate!" he calls to her, but she's walking away, striding down the corridor, away from him.   
  
She holds a hand up as she continues on. She throws an, "I'll call you," over her shoulder.   
  
He lets her go, even with the tempest of despair inside him, the swirling pain of knowing she won't.   
  
The black hole of loss already forming, where she once was.   
  


* * *

  
"Hey, Dad."   
  
"Hey, Katie, how are you?"   
  
Kate sits at her kitchen counter, phone in one hand, held to her ear, her other hand drumming nervously on the counter-top. "Can we talk?"   
  
"Of course," her dad replies, concern filling his voice. "What's wrong, Katie?"   
  
"If I were to reopen Mom's case, with fresh leads, with help from a- from a friend, who would support me through this. Would you… how would you feel about that?" She forces the words out, stumbling over almost every single one.   
  
Jim is silent as he considers her words. "Who is this friend? he asks.   
  
"Cast- Rick, Dad. It's Rick." Her dad has heard that name a few times recently. He knows they're dating, knows she's serious about this one.   
  
"You found something?"   
  
"Rick did."   
  
"Then I think the two of you should follow it up," he tells her, after a few beats of silence. "I know you, Katie. Knowing whatever it is you know, and ignoring it? That will eat away at you."   
  
"I'm so angry, Dad," she admits. "At him, for betraying my trust like this. I-"   
  
"He cares about you," Jim reminds her. "I may not have met him, but I know what you've told me. He's not doing this to hurt you. He's doing this to help you."   
  
"Or it's fodder for his books," she replies bitterly.   
  
"Do you really believe that?"   
  
She sighs, shakes her head, despite the fact her father can't see her. "No," she says after a moment. "No, I-" She swallows thickly. "I think I'm in love with him, Dad. I think he might return those feelings, and I was already terrified, and then he went and did this and I'm just… confused," she finishes.   
  
"And hurt."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"And you take after your old man, so you're going to be stubborn and pull away from him."   
  
"Yes," she admits, because there's no other response.   
  
"Don't," her dad tells her firmly. "Whatever you decide regarding the case, don't push Rick away because you feel betrayed. I know it's not in our nature, I know this phone call was hard enough for you, but go to Rick, and talk to him."   
  
Her fingers finally still on the counter-top, and she purses her lips. "Yeah, okay," she finally agrees. "Thank you."   
  
"Love you, Katie."   
  
"I love you."   
  
"Now go say those words to Rick."   
  


* * *

  
She keeps a tight hold on her emotions; droplets of rain run down her cheeks like tears, and she shivers slightly as her soaked clothing clings to her skin, but the anger and hurt is repressed, and she won't cry now. Her knuckles scrape against the wooden door, and she's lifting her hand again to knock louder, when it swings open, and Castle stands there.   
  
"Hey," he begins, hesitant. His eyes take in her soaked appearance, and he reaches for her, fingers falling to her lower back, guiding her inside. She's silent as he leads her to the fireplace, and she stands awkwardly while he disappears to get her a towel. Once it's draped around her shoulders, his hand lingering on her back, she says, "Show me," in a voice so broken it doesn't even sound like her own.   
  
He's silent as he stands behind her, his hand rubbing circles against her back through the towel, but not moving away.   
  
"Show me, Castle," she repeats, her voice stronger. She turns to face him. "Show me this evidence, tell me how you found it."   
  
He leads her to the couch, and she falters, hesitant to sit. But he waves a dismissive hand, because wet clothes on his couch is meaningless to him right now. He pats the space beside him, and pulls the coffee table a little closer once she has arranged a portion of the towel beneath her and has settled at his side.   
  
He takes her through it. The photos, the other victims, the knife thrusts, and ME reports. The photo of her own mother sits overturned on the table, but she finds it, turns it over, arranges it next to the photos of the other victims, takes it all in silently. And when he's done, when it all sinks in and she realizes what he has here, she nods in acceptance.   
  
"Listen, I'm not doing this to hurt you, I promise you that," he says softly. "I want to help you. You carry such pain around, Kate, and I just want for you to be free of it."   
  
"I'll always mourn my mom, Castle," she tells him gently. "Whether we solve this or not."   
  
"I know," he replies. "But for you, for your dad, and for Johanna, let me help you catch the people responsible."   
  
She smiles a little at that, but the darkness rises up inside her, and her smile turns sad. "I'm scared of- it almost destroyed me last time."   
  
"I won't let it," he says firmly. "I will be here, at your side. You're not alone now. We can get this done."   
  
"You'll be here?"   
  
He reaches for her hand, links their fingers together, and nods. "I love you, Kate." At her stunned expression he adds, "You may not want to hear that, but it's true. And, I'm not going anywhere."   
  
In the past, she might have stood, and run. She might have built a wall so high around her heart it could never be scaled, one so resilient no one could get through.   
Instead, she surrenders. She tugs her hand from his so she can wrap both arms around him, and sinks into him. He holds her close, their bodies at awkward angles on the couch, the water from her wet clothes seeping into his, but neither caring. Her lips brush his neck, her eyelashes flutter against his skin, and she silently returns three words to him.   
  
He exhales a shaky sigh of relief, holds her just a little tighter, and murmurs, "I know."


End file.
